My Love For My Own Doughnut Socks Transcends My Issues
96 on my Soc paper. I got so excited that I screamed and ran around the hall in my doughnut socks (they are excellent by the way, but my being incredibly proud of my stupid pair of socks is besides the point). Got an 95 on my Anthro miderm, A- on my Social Psych, and my creative writing teacher said I should be ‘proud’ of the work I’ve done for his class (though I do promise anyone who might be reading this that I abuse poetic forms and am fact not proud at all of my poetry, even the ones I had fun writing. I am much more proud of my aforementioned socks, which are fucking brilliant. Just stupendously awesome. Nothing makes me happier than my socks. That and all of my poems someway have related to food and my own relationship with it) and that despite my worries, I am getting an A for my participation grade. Psycholinguistics has yet to give me any grade determinants.
This is all extremely entertaining to me in light of the nervous breakdown I had last week that had me proclaiming: ‘I need medical attention to keep me from ending back up in the hospital’. While that’s very true, it’s strange that I can be doing well and school and be a complete nervous wreck. Additionally, I look like I’ve been hit by a car and no one (in the romantic context) wants to touch me with a ten foot pole. I don’t blame them. It’s just hard explaining that to my Mom and Dad (who now thankfully I guess, are attributing my dateless to the difficulty that comes with dealing with me). It also makes me wonder what anyone who says I’m out all attractive is thinking when my current success rate is negative. My obsession with my body is cummilating to the point where I spend a good amount of my day thinking about jean sizes, teeth, hair, and face symmetrically. Basically, I’m a train wreck and an annoying self-preoccupation (but with doughnut socks, which I think no one else cares about, but I can’t let go of how much I like them).